“Poto is
missing. We can’t find her anywhere in the toy building,” Guido said.

“She’s
probably over in the new book-wrapping shack. You know how much she loves those
new picture books,” Randel replied and continued to comb the hair on a fashion
doll.

“No, I’ve
checked everywhere. She’s not in any of the toy making or wrapping rooms. I
even looked in the lunch hall.”

“Did you
try the ‘Dear Santa’ Letter-reading office? She enjoys reading letters to Santa
from children.”

“That was
the last place anyone saw her. She’s disappeared. I need to report this to
Santa.”

Guido donned
a thick winter coat and wrapped a long scarf several times around his head and
neck before opening the outer door, leading to the reindeer barn. Freezing wind
howled around him as he trudged through deep snow drifts that crossed his
pathway. The elf tucked his face deep into the warm folds of a scarf he
received from Santa’s wife on his last birthday. It was difficult for him to
see the path. Guido worried that if Poto went outside during this storm, she
might have gotten lost. Even the big red reindeer barn was barely visible
through this storm.

Guido
pulled the heavy barn door open, but it wouldn’t close as it became stuck in
the snow.

“Close that
door!” Santa shouted from the far side of the barn. “We’ve got a baby in here.”

“I’m trying,
sir, but it’s stuck,” Guido replied.

“Stand
aside,” Santa ordered.

All the
elves knew his powers, and they scrambled to get out of the way when he used
them. Guido let go of the door handle and dove to one side just as a powerful
stream of sparkling energy passed over his head. It came from Santa’s finger
tips and easily slammed the door closed.

“Guido,
what brings you out here on such a cold night?” Santa helped his little friend
to his feet. “Did you come to see Sasha’s baby?”

All the
members of Santa’s village knew that the reindeer mother, Sasha, would have her
baby soon. Santa had been sleeping in the barn for nearly two weeks so he could
help her when the time came.

“Is the
baby here?” Guido asked with excitement.

“Come see
her. She hasn’t even gotten to her feet, yet.”

Santa put
his hand on Guido’s shoulder and guided him into the farthest stall on the
opposite wall. There, lying on a thick mat of dry hay, a tiny reindeer lifted
her head to see her very first visitor. Her short tail wagged when she saw
Santa, and she looked curiously at Guido. The mother reindeer, Sasha, used her
nose to nudge the baby, encouraging her to stand.

As Guido
and Santa watched, the baby tested her long legs. She pushed against her
mother’s hoof on one side and shoved a foot deep into the hay on her other side.
Slowly, and with support from her mother’s nose, the baby struggled to her feet,
her legs wobbling as she learned to balance.

“Welcome to
the world,” Santa said to the baby. “Good job, Sasha. Your daughter looks as
strong and beautiful as you. What do you think, Guido?”

Guido
noticed that both animals reacted to Santa’s comments as if they completely
understood what he had said. Sasha stepped away from her fawn for a moment to
nuzzle Santa’s chest while he scratched behind her ears.

“She’s
adorable, Santa. Have you picked a name for her yet?” Guido asked.

“No, my
friend, I never pick names for baby reindeer. I leave that as a special
Christmas gift for only one child. The hard part is deciding which child will
get that honor.”

Santa’s
helper extended a hand below the little reindeer’s nose, but instead of
sniffing it, she pressed her nose against his palm and licked it.

“Guido! She
likes you already,” Santa bellowed. “That was a reindeer kiss. You are now a
very special person to her. She will be your friend for life.”

As a toy
builder, Guido never spent time around the reindeer, so this experience fascinated
him almost to the point of forgetting why he originally weathered the storm to
find Santa. He suddenly recalled the important mission that brought him to the
barn.

“Santa...Poto
is missing. We can’t find her anywhere. Have you seen her?”

Santa
thought a moment. “I’ve been out here for two weeks waiting for Sasha’s baby. I
haven’t seen her during this time . . . wait . . . I returned to the dining
hall yesterday for dinner, and I thought I heard someone crying. It was Poto.
When I asked her why she was upset, she said she read a child’s wish letter
that upset her. She said she would be okay.”

Guido followed
Santa as they hurried back to the Christmas toy center. With a wave of his
hand, Santa made the door open an instant before they approached it. He called
out to his toy center supervisor.

“Randel,
I’ve just been told that Poto cannot be found. Stop the Christmas production
schedule. I want every member of our village to join the search for her.”

Randel
jumped up from his workbench and pulled an emergency cord hanging above his
table. Warning bells sounded. Conveyor belts stopped. Helpers in every
department of Santa’s Village ceased what they were doing and waited for an
announcement. As the senior-most elf, Randel used the intercom to announce the
missing Poto and initiate a Village-wide search. Each department reported back within
minutes. She was nowhere inside any of the buildings. Santa immediately
expanded the search.

“She must
have gone outside for some reason,” Santa said. “The blizzard could have disoriented
her so we must find her quickly. Randel, organize ten search teams to go
outside. Use the rope system that we’ve practiced in the past so we do not lose
anyone else in this storm.”

Soon,
search teams pushed through powerful winds and ever-deepening snow drifts, each
hoping that they would find the young she-elf alive. Santa led a team back to
the reindeer barn where they checked every stall and both hay lofts, looking
for her.

Something nagged
Santa's mind, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. Then, it came to him.

“Where is
Gannon?” Santa shouted his question out to his helpers from inside an empty reindeer
stall.

Several
barn workers scurried from stall to stall, looking for Gannon. The young reindeer
was also missing.

“He’s not
with any of the other reindeer, sir,” said Santa’s stable aide.

The storm’s
intensity raged outside and Santa knew his search parties were in danger.

“Recall
everyone to the village. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

As Santa’s
helpers left the barn, he approached the stall of his famous reindeer, Rudolf.
“What do you think, old friend? Your son and my helper are missing. Is there a
connection?”

Rudolf
walked past Santa to a wall displaying reindeer harnesses. Most of the tack
consisted of magic sleigh rigging that responded only to Santa while pulling
his sleigh full of presents around the world on Christmas Eve. But, there were
also a few saddles and bridles specially made to fit reindeer for a single person
to ride. Rudolf’s nose glowed brighter than normal when he nudged the rack of
single-rider harnesses. Usually, six sets hung there. Now, there were only five.

Santa
rushed back to the main complex. He burst through the entryway, walked right
past the toy assembly tables and his shivering searchers. He vanished through
the doorway to the “Dear Santa” Letter Reading Office.

“Where did
Poto sit last night?” he asked. The head clerk led Santa to the desk where she
screened mail and logged wish-lists.

Every
child’s Christmas Wish letter receives special attention. First, it gets copied
and logged into the World Book of Christmas Wishes so it will never be lost or
overlooked. Then, depending on the type of wish, it gets routed to the right
department to be filled. The job of letter-reader was very important, but sometimes
wishes come in that even Santa can’t make happen, but Santa never gives up.
Those difficult Christmas wishes go into a special file called “Maybe it can
happen”.

“She
processed quite a few letters last night,” Santa said as he reviewed her work
and notes. “Looks like she did a good job . . . wait, what’s this?”

Santa read
the letter out loud:

“Dear
Santa,

Last year,
I got real sick and my mommy took me to the hospital. They hurt me with a bunch
of needles and said I had cancer. I asked you to make the cancer go away for
Christmas. That’s all I wanted. Thank you, Santa, because it’s gone now, and I
just know you answered my Christmas wish.

This year I
need another big wish. It’s for my mommy. She’s got cancer, but it’s not like
mine. The doctor is talking about something called hospice, and my daddy said they
can’t fix her. I don’t believe them. They don’t know that you fixed me last
year. So, that’s my only Christmas wish this year. Can you please fix my mommy?

Love,
Camelia

p.s.I love the dolls you got me last year,
even though I didn’t ask for them. Thank you.”

Santa put
down the letter and checked the letter registry. Poto logged it less than twelve
hours ago. He now understood why his she-elf cried in the cafeteria last night.

Santa memorized
the little girl’s address and ran from the building to the barn.

“Rudolf, we must find Poto and
Gannon. They lack experience to fly in such a storm. Gather the team.”

Soon Rudolf and the Christmas
sleigh team stood in proper order waiting for Santa to hook them to his sleigh.
The jolly old man wrinkled his brow and waived a hand toward the sleigh at the
back of the barn. It rose into the air and floated past the reindeer until it
could drop into place with all the harnesses resting on the backs of the magic
deer. Straps and buckles slipped around each one like living vines until all
were connected and ready to go. Santa stepped into the sleigh and called out, “Rise
my steeds, run like the wind. We must find Poto, we must save Ganon. And bring
them home again.”

The barn doors parted and
Santa’s sleigh charged into the bitter cold night.

“Rudolf,
lead us to your son,” Santa called out.

His lead reindeer did not need
any encouragement. He already picked up Gannon’s scent and was pulling harder
than ever before. His fellow reindeer understood the urgency and they, too,
snorted great clouds of vapor from their nostrils as they pulled faster and
faster.

Swirling snow cut off visibility.
Only Rudolf’s special senses guided them through the darkness. Hours passed.
Santa’s steeds never slowed, deep resolve driving their mission.

The horizon
soon became bright as they flew out of the storm and into a new day. Blue ocean
passed below and thin, wispy clouds whizzed by. The coastline of a large
continent showed in the distance. Rudolf and his team pulled even harder,
sensing Gannon not far ahead. The sleigh began to circle around a rundown house
at the edge of a small town. There, on the roof, was Gannon, waiting by himself,
but where was Poto?

Santa’s sleigh set down
without making a sound. Rudolf touched Gannon’s nose to make sure the young one
understood his unauthorized flight was not acceptable. Voices rose from a
nearby chimney.

“We’re poor. Momma doesn’t
have a real cancer doctor. The village medic told us there is nothing he can
do. But...but you saved me last year. I know you did.” The child’s voice
wavered between hope and desperation. “Why can’t you save my momma?”

Santa rubbed his beard for a
moment.

“I cannot
cure cancer,” he said, “but I can do the next best thing. I will be back soon. Poto,
you may stay here with her until I return.”

Santa touched a finger to the
side of his nose and vanished in a puff of dust.

“Rudolf, do you remember
Anthony Kinder?”

The lead reindeer nodded yes.

“Take us to him. We haven’t
much time.”

Again, Santa’s flying steeds roared
into the sky on a course, known only to Rudolf. They flew over mountains, followed
rivers and passed small towns until they soared above a giant city where they
landed on top of a large building. Santa vanished is a ball of sparkles.

“Hello, Anthony. How have you
been?”

An elderly man stood up to
face Santa. He smiled.

“It’s been a long time Saint
Nick. You were there for me in my darkest hour. I will always appreciate the
hope you gave me. What brings you here?”

“A woman, a poor woman, is
dying from cancer and needs your skill.”

“Is there someone else who can
take care of her? My skills are getting outdated. Even my hands shake a bit.
She’d be much better with care from one of the young docs.”

“Anthony, it is not your
skills I need. It is the message of hope you bring. If your knowledge and
skills save this woman, wonderful, but it is equally important if you achieve
nothing more than providing hope...for a child.”

Instead of touching down on
the roof where Gannon waited, Santa brought his sleigh to a stop on the front
lawn near the little girl’s entry door. Doctor Kinder jumped from the sleigh
and rang the doorbell. Camelia answered and he asked if he could visit the
little girl’s ailing mother.

“Momma, this is Doctor Kinder.
He’s here to help you.”

The weak woman said, “I’m
afraid we can’t pay for your services, doctor. We went broke paying for our
daughter’s treatment last year.”

Dr. Kinder, patted the woman’s
hand and replied, “My fees have already been settled. In fact, I’ve arranged
for nurses and housekeeping staff to help care for you during your recovery.”

“I’m afraid my village doctor
says its terminal.”

“I’m afraid we’re all
terminal, my dear,” the doctor joked and patted her hand. “Let’s start your treatment by changing
your attitude. I expect the best results, and I insist my patients do the same.”

A sound of tinkling bells rang
through the window and the bottom of Santa’s sleigh flashed by the mother’s
window as her jaw dropped in surprise.

Many years later, Poto was
reading letters to Santa in preparation for another Christmas. Then, she saw
it--the letter from Camelia. It read,

“I hope
this letter finds Poto. I want to thank her for all she did. I’m married now,
and Dr. Kinder gave me the greatest gift of my life. With his care, momma lived
long enough to be at my wedding and to hold my first baby. I miss momma with all
my heart, but I am eternally grateful for the extra time you made possible by
bringing Dr. Kinder, and hope, into our lives. Thank you, Poto.

Monday, April 18, 2016

Darkness
beckons. My deepest thoughts melt into that formless place where normal souls
tremble and the insane find peace. As I fall into the abyss, caution screams its
warning, yet I surrender. Calm presages evil—a devastation to be wrought by mine
own hand.

Pray tell,wherein doth normalcy end and lunacy begin? Condemned, am I, to this dark realm for the sum of my existence?

Alas, I
know not simple pleasures of blind faith, nor complex musings of the tortured
surrealist, only my nurturing sanctuary of isolation and hatred. Aloneness spawns
its own comfort after the first century. Trapped in the world of shadows, I discover
its power, oblivious to all, but my own thirst for vengeance, free to slay
without remorse—each kill, a momentary justice.

I am the shadow—your
shadow. I slay without warning only to hide in plain sight, basking in glorious
chaos while others sort the aftermath seeking reason.

Who am I?
What am I? Close your curtains, and turn off your lights. Wait silently in dark
repose as I approach . . . unseen . . . unfelt. YOU are next!

* * *

Rebecca Stankey lived in luxury, displaying wealth that commoners could not fathom. In her own mind,
she deserved opulence. Yes, I had tasted the blood of paupers before, but killing
the privileged gave heightened pleasure.

She slid
into bed, unknowing of my presence.

Rebecca, my prized Rebecca, I thought.If
only you could know how long I waited for this moment when you will writhe in penance
for Gwendolyn’s lies, I pray you haunt her in afterlife. You exist as a surrogate for my tormenter. You die for a crime not of your making.

I slithered
along her body, toward her face, merging through shadows under her silk top sheet
until stopped in my quest by her reading light. I waited. She felt nothing.

Five years stalking, waiting,
anticipating—reduced to this single moment, an instant of terror for you, sweet
vengeance for me.

My lamb placed
a marker in her reading book and reached for the bedside light. Darkness set me
free.

* * *

Uniformed constables
talked with a stiff man in a business suit as they ambled past my shadow refuge.

“Yes sir.
Doc Turner said flesh was ripped and bones shattered. No evidence of sharp
instruments. It’s almost like she exploded.”“Suspects?”

You simpleton. Who would suspect a
shadow?

I laughed.

Killing bored
me after the first few, until I found delight in confounding constables. I
listened to their mindless speculation with pleasure.

“From what
we can tell,” an investigator said, “nobody disliked her. There’s no boyfriend,
no jealous girlfriends, and her boss admits feeling romantic toward her, but says
they never got together outside of work. His story checks out. We got nothing.”The lead investigator stopped with
his foot crossing my shadow.

Should I jump to him? No. This one fought well.
My energy is spent.

The
detective looked at a photo on the dresser.

“Any cross-matches
in FBI archives?”

“Actually,
sir, there have been twelve murders with the same MO, but they can’t be
related. First was in 1902. Others are about ten years apart and in different
regions.”

Fools! Those are but the few I allowed you
to find.

“Copycat
killer?”

“Slim
chance. Most of these cases went unsolved decades ago. Bunch of clones of this Stankey
lady—young women, long red hair, green eyes and all childless.”

How many times have I gloated in such
aftermath? I lost count during the Middle Ages.

Police scoured everything in the
house with no hint as to my role. They left.

For now, I rest…until time comes to hunt
again.

* * *

A key
jangled the lock. The front door opened. Bright sunlight flooded the living
room, forcing my retreat deep into shadows. A woman real estate agent entered
with a young couple close behind.

Not a suitable wench, I assessed the
agent. Short, fake-blonde hair. Far too
thin in the midriff. How I miss plump lasses of my home.

“This house
has been vacant over two years,” she said. “I am required by law to disclose
that a murder took place here. That’s why the price is so low, but the bank had
it painted recently and upgraded the carpet.”

I studied the
young couple.

“I like
this place,” she said. “You’d never know something bad happened here. What do
you think, Kent?”

“This place
gives me the creeps. Let’s get outta here.”

The man
cast a long shadow across the hallway, extending across my haven. I transferred.

Be a good host, Kent. Carry me to my
next prey. My hunger grows.

Thoughts
drifted back to 1639, when I transferred to a nobleman in upper Ireland. I
hoped he would carry me into his castle. Beautiful Gaelic girls frequented such
estates in search of rich suitors. I expected to have wide choice.

Alas, the
bloated pig died in his sleep that very night. I tried to transfer, but no
shadow touched me. Workers cackled about the girth of the headmaster while stealing
his jewels from his body. He was left to decay until a local friar dropped by. After
whispering prayers over the corpse, the religious man folded bed linens over the
body trapping me within the darkness.

For two
centuries inside the burial crypt, I grew strong and swore revenge. A grave
robber opened the coffin, and I jumped to him, basking in the glory of freedom.
Even voices in my head that taunted me for many decades went silent. Soon, I
found another host who boarded a sailing ship for some new place called The New
World. I learned to choose hosts carefully after that episode in my secret existence.

My new
host, a young man, offers longevity, unlike the obese patrician. We entered the
couple’s apartment where I got a good look at the man’s companion.

“Jan,” he
said, “I’m going to O’Grady’s for a beer. You’re welcome to come.”

“No thanks.
Early meeting at the office. You have fun.”

I studied this
potential surrogate.

She looks to be late twenties, and
bonny lass at that, but she will live. Blonde hair will not suffice.

My host entered
a rowdy pub that reminded me of home.

“Molly, can
you get me a Heineken?” my host called to the barmaid.

Green eyes, red hair, thick in the
hips and ample endowments. Perfect! If ever I saw the image of you, Gwendolyn,
it would be in this tart. Your betrayal condemned me to this shadow curse. I
shall be avenged. Even her Irish name fits—Molly, such a glorious Gaelic proxy.

“Here you
are, Kent,” she said and placed a beverage on the table. “Where’s Jan?”

They talked
while I tracked her shadow. I tried throughout the evening to become one with
her, but she moved too fast, always flitting from one table to another. Sports ended
on TV, and my host stood to leave.

No, we cannot leave! She is perfect.

Power was
growing, but not yet sufficient to control this host.

“Kent,”
Molly called out. “I’m off work in a minute. Can you give me a ride home?”

The redheaded
goddess slid into the passenger seat and reached across, taking Kent’s hand in hers.
They smiled with a familiarity I found odd.

“Did you
tell her, yet?” Molly asked.

“I’m
waiting for the right time.”

His cell
phone rang.

“Hi honey, game’s
over. My team lost. Some of us are going to play poker. Don’t wait up for me,
okay? Sleep tight.”

Molly
retracted her hand and crossed her arms over her breasts.

“Are you
mad at me?” Kent asked.

“What do
you think?”

Kent followed
Molly into her first floor apartment. She threw her purse on the couch and went
to another room. While we waited on the sofa, I studied the scene of my next
hunt.

Molly
stepped into the hallway. She was beautiful—so much like my dear Gwendolyn of
Cork.

“You look great,”
Kent said and crossed the room to embrace Molly in her revealing nightclothes.
She rejected him with a single palm to his chest.

She went
into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. We followed.

“Kent, you
know I love you.”

One hand lifted
to his cheek. The back of her fingers grazed his short beard.

“I can’t
keep doing this. You have to choose. It’s me, or her.”Is
this how it ended with Gwendolyn? Why did she choose Prince Marcus over me?

My rage simmered
while they made love.

How many times have I sought the
perfect surrogate, always settling for imperfection? Molly, my love, you are perfect.
You will die for Gwendolyn’s betrayal, a trait you share.

I drifted
along the thin shadow between their entwined bodies and attached to her.

Molly
kissed Kent goodnight.

I laughed.

Fingerprints will be all over this
scene, and your seed within her. How will you explain this to the constables,
Kent?

Hanging her
robe on the hook behind the bathroom door, I avoided bright lights above her
mirror, and she stepped into the shower. I crawled around her body to avoid glare
that could kill a shadow. Embracing this woman, I longed for physical form to
ravage her in the flesh.

Her cell
phone rang, and we stepped from the shower.

“You did?
How did she react?”

Molly sat
on the toilet lid, weak-kneed at the news.

“Two hours?
I’ll unlock the front door, so we don’t disturb my neighbors. I know this was
hard for you, Kent. Everything will be okay. You’ll see. I love you.”

Yes, everything will be fine, my love—just
fine.

Molly
turned off the shower and provided darkness for me when she wrapped us in a
large towel and unlocked the entry door. She hummed happily while drying her
hair. I waited, safe in the cleavage shadow between her breasts.

Hurry with your hair, my wench. I
grow anxious for us to meet.

I knew this
execution would be slow. Full strength had not yet returned since the Stankey
slaying. Molly flicked the bathroom light switch, plunging us into darkness. I
surged, unfelt, from her chest, up her neck, and across her lips into the
darkness of her nasal cavity.

Gwendolyn of Cork, with this act, I
commit this surrogate to haunt you in the afterlife. Vengeance shall be mine!

Oozing down
Molly’s throat into her lungs, I thickened my shadow. This sinful strumpet
dropped to her knees, chest heaving violently in a futile effort to expel my
substance from her airways.

Deprived you shall be, Molly, of a
quick death. Yes, clutch your throat in futility. Final blackness sets in as life’s
essence fades to naught. Feel the fear. Suffer lewd woman—just as I have
suffered for centuries since the gypsy cast her spell. Treachery begets
treachery.

Molly was a
fighter. I liked that. She tore at her throat, her body trembling as it fought for
air. The last time I killed this way, my prey collapsed, and I withdrew too
soon. I don’t make mistakes twice.

Die wanton swine, die! Gwen awaits you
in hell. You can thank her for your fate, a destiny equally deserved by both of
you for your betrayals.

Molly’s pulse
became erratic. Blood from ruptures in her lungs squeezed past me and drooled
from her mouth. The last of my energy pulsed down her throat until her heartbeat
stopped.

The deed is done. Peace is mine,
fleeting as it may be, until I crave to kill again.

I had sent many
souls to haunt Gwendolyn, but this one was different. There was no pleasure,
only a cold, empty conclusion.

Am I losing my mind? Hath hatred
toward my former lover burned away after all these years? I should be enthralled,
yet I am barely satisfied. Where is the thrill?

I withdrew
from her lungs and melted into shadow along her side, completely spent.

The
apartment door opened.

“Molly?
Honey, I’m here.”Kent entered the hall and dropped
to his knees.

“Molly, talk
to me! What’s wrong?”

I
transferred to his shadow as he leaned across her torso.

He called
for medical help and began pushing on her chest while breathing into her throat
at intervals. Blood smeared his mouth. Minutes later, emergency personnel
arrived.

“Officer, she’s
dead,” the paramedic said, “but I can’t legally pronounce her. We gotta
transport her body to the ER for a doc’s certification. You might want to call
this a crime scene.”

Constables
secured the apartment after Molly was removed. Kent was questioned and
authorities took photos of his bloody face. Officers refused to let him take
his luggage when he left, as it was considered part of a possible crime scene.

When we
entered Kent’s house, Jan was sitting on the couch in the dark, obviously
crying.

“Whadda you
want?” she asked in a blend of anger and sadness.

“Molly’s
dead,” Kent said. We sat down.

“Molly? Is
that the slut from the pub? I can’t believe you’re leaving me for—oh my God. She’s
dead?”

“There was
blood everywhere. It was awful.”

Jan’s
attitude changed. She rushed to the kitchen and returned with a wet a paper
towel. He looked up from the chair by the door while she wiped his face clean.

“I . . . I
tried to save her,” he said.

“What
hospital did they take her to? Maybe she lived.”

Why was there not such a sensitive
woman for me? Had I known the love of a simple peasant girl like Jan, this eternal
damnation might never have been wrought upon me. I lacked such sense as to seek
a gentle woman. Instead, I lusted for the heartless princess, Gwendolyn.

“They
didn’t tell me.”Kent pulled a card from his
pocket.

“Cops said
to call this number if I had questions.”

Jan
snatched the card and dialed the number. After a brief conversation, she hung
up.

“She’s at
Memorial. He wouldn’t tell me anything other than her death is under
investigation. I guess she didn’t make it.”

For the
next week, Kent and I slept on the couch. Police questioned him and Jan, making
no effort to hide interest in the couple’s possible involvement. That weekend,
someone knocked firmly on the front door. Three uniformed men, wearing rubber
gloves and breathing masks, identified themselves as being from the Centers for
Disease Control. The detective I recognized from Molly’s murder scene stepped
in front of them, also wearing protective gear.

“Hi Kent.
Is Jan home?”

“Yeah,
what’s going on?”

“Please get
her. This involves both of you.”

He complied
and we stood before authorities who only saw two humans.

“Kent and
Jan,” the detective said, “the coroner’s cleared you in Molly’s death. She
suffered extensive hemorrhage of her lungs with no apparent cause. These
gentlemen are from the CDC to take you for tests. Feds were called when the
autopsy suggested a possible unknown deadly virus. Kent, you were directly
exposed to anything Molly had.”

The officer
cleared his throat before continuing.

“As you
know, Jan got secondary exposure through you. These guys need to test for any
biological threat that might explain Molly’s death. A new lethal virus is considered
a national threat. Go with these guys, and you should be home in a couple days.
I’ll contact your employers and handle any phone calls from family. This is a
sensitive national crisis.”

“I’m not
going anywhere,” Kent objected. “I’ll see my own doctor. If he finds—”

“You don’t
have a choice,” the detective said. “Feds take potential deadly new diseases
seriously. Both of you are under protective custody until tests are completed.
Let’s go.”

What a wonderful twist. I have never
experienced such intrigue. If I had a face, I would be smiling.

“I’ll get
my purse,” Jan said.

“No ma’am,”
a CDC technician said. “This house is being quarantined until our investigation
is complete. Nothing can be disturbed.”

“But, I
want my—”

“Ma’am, it
doesn’t matter what you want. You are under our authority and will obey. Here
is a protective mask. I’ll show you how to put it on.”

The
faceless government thug grabbed Jan’s arm, forcibly turning her away from her
purse.

“Get your
hands off her!” Kent yelled and slammed the CDC worker up against the wall.

A second
CDC technician shocked Kent in the lower back with a Taser.

This just keeps getting better!

“Stop!” The
detective shouted and stepped between Kent and the man holding the handheld stun
weapon. “These people have been through enough. Let me talk to them.”

The first
fed worker grumbled about how he was the person in authority and would give the
detective three minutes to secure cooperation or face punishment for
interfering with the lawful performance of a federal officer.

The
electrical shock did not affect me, but it knocked the knickers off Kent. I watched
for an opportunity to transfer.

I’m not spending another century in
a grave.

I glided
into the detective’s shadow as he bent over to help Kent. Minutes later, Jan
and her misguided man donned protective gear and left.

The
detective returned to his office unaware of my presence. Multiple doors lined the
wall to my left while a row of glass-walled offices faced them. We stopped in
the last cubicle where bright light poured through a window. My shadow refuge
shrank to a thin strip of darkness along his pant leg met the seat.

“Bill,” my
host called out, “did you talk to that nutcase about the Stankey murder?”

“She’s in
Room Three. Care to watch? Should be amusing.”We followed Bill into a dark
room where a large window revealed the interior of the adjoining room. A frail
old woman sat across from a female officer.

No, not her! Not again! You should
have been dead a thousand years ago.

The witch
wore many layers of colorful rags and a bright bandana. Large hoop earrings, a gold
metal shaft through her nose adorned her wrinkled face. One inflamed wart, high
on her cheek, brought a flood of memories. The gypsy!

Pagan witch! Why did you curse me at
the bidding of Gwendolyn? For a thousand years, I have sought to avenge my
lover’s treachery, a deceit made eternal by your vile spell.

“Ma’am,
what’s your name?”

“Queen Esmeralda
of the Derry Tribe in Gaelic lands that you now call Ireland.”

“Queen? Is
that your first name?”

“It is the
role my people chose for me.”

Skipping protocol,
the interrogator got to the point.

“You claim
to know who murdered Miss Stankey.”

“I have
been tracking him for ten centuries.”

“Who is
that?” the lady cop asked while covering her mouth to hide her amusement.

“A great
wrong befell an innocent young man. I must find him before he kills again.” The
witch stood abruptly and faced the one-way window where I watched.

“He is near,”
she said and ran a finger down the glass, a single long fingernail making a
high pitched scrape.

“Ma’am, don’t
touch the mirror. Who is ‘he’?”

“Ragan of
Cork.”

“Is he our
killer?”

“Yes.

“Where can
we find him?”

“He lives within
shadows.”

“Let me get
this straight. You’re a thousand-year-old gypsy queen, chasing a murderer who
lives in shadows. That’s a stretch, isn’t it?”

“I don’t
believe you. I heard Gwen with my own ears when she agreed to take Marcus over
me. You were in the room.”

“Marcus was
there to kill you. Gwendolyn bade me save you, so I cast you in shadow. The
spell worked. Marcus fell for the deception and left.”

The witch
touched my form.

“Marcus put
Gwendolyn to the sword when he discovered her carrying your child.”

Her voice
deepened.

“Regan, I
cannot remove the curse. I only tell the truth, hoping to soothe your rage. You
will exist in darkness until light banishes all trace of your shadow. That is the
only way you can die. Until then, stop killing in the name of Gwendolyn. She does
not deserve that legacy.”

“Damn you,
witch. This is your curse. Break the spell.”

“I cannot. The
chant empowered only one to
undo the spell. That one was put to the sword before she could save you.”

Rage grew.
I wanted to kill the gypsy.

“Regan of
Cork, my task is now complete,” she said.

The witch’s
skin shriveled and turned to dust before us. Clothes fell into a shapeless pile
and the dust revealing my form vanished. I slipped into a shadow—the woman at
the table.

“What the
hell just happened?” she asked.

“Don’t
know, but if that gypsy’s right, our killer’s in this room. Turn on all the
lights.”

Bill
flipped all the light switches on.

You? Kill me? I don’t die that
easily, and I do get revenge. I crawled up her body in dark safety beneath
her clothes.

“Who’s writing
this report?” she asked. “This could be a career-ender.”

“You did the
interrogation, Jackie. You take credit.” Bill patted her on the shoulder and
left the interrogation room laughing.

At day’s end,
Jackie and I left the detective building. She stopped on the way home.

“Okay, shadow
boy,” she said with sarcasm. “I don’t believe that crap in the office today,
but it’s got me spooked. I’m about to execute your ass in a tanning booth with
three-hundred-sixty degrees of light.”

“Hi,
Jackie,” a worker said. “Not your usual day. Special occasion?”

“Long story,
sweetie. Is my favorite tanning bed available?”

“Yeah, but
we just got one of those new stand-up booths. Wanna try it?”

When the
salon worker touched Jackie. I transferred through a thin thread of shadow
between them..

Thank you for the warning, officer. I’ll
enjoy your panic when you die.

After her
tanning session, I slipped back to Jackie through the thin shadow of a simple
handshake.

For now, harlot, I rest. When I grow
strong, you will be punished. Besides, I’ve never taken a brunette before. This
could be fun.

We entered
my host’s home. Her beautiful daughter with thick ringlets of red hair gave us
a hug.